Unspooled

The padel ball ricocheted off the glass wall with a hollow thud, the sound echoing across the empty court. Elena sat on the bench, her racket resting against her thigh, watching Marcus laugh at something his new girlfriend said. They played with the easy rhythm of people who hadn't spent three years slowly destroying each other.

A calico cat—the club's unofficial mascot, according to the sign at reception—jumped onto the bench beside her, yellow eyes assessing her with clinical detachment. Elena scratched behind its ears, the purr vibrating through her fingertips.

"You're smarter than I am," she murmured. "You don't play games you can't win."

The cable guy had been at her apartment that morning. She'd finally cancelled the cable package she and Marcus had shared—their Netflix queue still populated with his documentaries, her reality shows, a digital graveyard of who they used to be together. The technician had asked if she wanted to keep the premium channels. She'd said no. Some connections you sever completely.

Marcus had insisted they join this club last spring, back when they were still trying to fix things with couple's activities and scheduled date nights. He'd loved padel—the strategy, the competition, the way it felt like tennis but cooler somehow. Elena had mostly loved the excuse to drink wine in the sun afterwards.

Now she watched him wrap his arm around the other woman—Sophia?—as they walked off the court, glistening with water from the fountain they'd both just drunk from. The cat jumped down and trotted toward them, senselessly loyal to whoever had treats.

Elena stood up, shouldering her bag. She'd played one game this morning, lost 6-2, and spent the rest of the hour sitting here thinking it meant something. It didn't. Some losses were just losses.

Her phone buzzed—a text from Marcus: *Left your water bottle at the court.*

She walked past the empty bench without looking back. Let him keep it. Let him wonder why she never came back to this court, this club, this version of herself who thought love was a game you could master if you just learned the right technique.

The cable was gone. The cat had chosen. The padel court was just glass and concrete, and somewhere along the way, she'd stopped playing and started watching from the sidelines.

Elena pushed through the club's glass doors and into the afternoon heat, finally ready to begin.